


XXX

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alex is loud during sex pass it on, Banter, Crack, Creative sexual positions, Established Relationship, M/M, Sass, Trust, wingporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Are you reading a fucking porno mag?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Michael’s hand hesitates, though he makes no move to stand from the couch cushions piled upon the floor.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m not reading it.”</i>
</p><p>We all know what Michael was doing to pass the time in that sex shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XXX

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [noodle](http://noodletheelephant.tumblr.com/) for reading, helping and enduring our new fandom spree!

Michael only notices a break in the litany when a bullet cracks the glass, lifting his gaze. In the ringing silence, the eight-ball’s body flops heavy to the ground and Alex stands snarling, lips curled across his teeth in frustration. Placid, the archangel lifts a brow, and fans through the magazine in his lap.

“Are you done, then?”

Alex takes his time to holster his gun again. He does, because he knows if he were to turn with it still in his hand he would let loose not just a stream of curses towards the archangel. He imagines he would still manage to put up a wing against the firepower, still block them and flick the useless shells away.

And he would be more annoyed than he is now, at the fact that it didn’t work. Again.

He flicks the safety and holsters, staring for a moment more into the glass cage before turning to Michael.

“It didn’t work.”

“Not once,” Michael agrees, taking in another page before turning it with a whisper of sun-brittle pages. “Not once out of a dozen.”

“Y’know,” grits Alex. “That isn’t helpful. You’re not helpful. You’re supposed to be guiding me -”

He glances down to the swell of calves on the back of the magazine, painted fingernails spread across bent knees.

“- helping me -”

Across her shoulder, the woman kneeling, backside towards the camera, grins with flush scarlet lips and broad white teeth. Or teeth that would have been, once, before the paper got weathered to a jaundiced yellow. The woman herself is probably long gone, too, only her images preserved in fading magazine pages that the archangel peruses with interest.

“Are you reading a fucking porno mag?”

Michael’s hand hesitates, though he makes no move to stand from the couch cushions piled upon the floor.

“I’m not reading it.”

He turns another page and lingers, brows furrowed in interest for a moment before he raises his eyes to Alex again. His face is entirely impassive, unaffected at all, no blush, no nervous swallowing. It is entirely clinical to him. Alex would wonder if he even had the capacity for this sort of sensation if he didn’t find himself near-weekly pinned beneath the very opposite of this sort of dispassionate angel.

He knows Michael reacts to pleasure. He knows Michael gets aroused.

“Are you being pedantic on purpose?” Alex asks. The angel just blinks.

“Are you putting any effort into your incantations?” He counters, letting his eyes return to the magazine, elegant fingers stroking softly up the edge of the page, balancing against the corner before that page, too, gets turned for another. Alex curses. The corner of Michael’s lips twitch but it’s hardly a smile.

“Have you thought that perhaps only an angel can make that work?” Alex asks him, voice rising. “That maybe I can’t do it because I’m not supposed to? Have you thought about anything except whatever is in that magazine for the last few hours you’ve had me pull myself apart here?”

“Did I do that?” Michael asks, and like fingers closing slowly to a fist, his voice tightens incrementally. “As I recall, it was your idea to continue these attempts. Your idea to taunt eight-balls until they followed you here. Your idea for me to corral them, for you, so that you could let you frustration get the better of you and see the glass riddled with bullets.”

He breathes out long, tensions ebbing as he turns the magazine vertically, and his head tilts along with it. Slowly, his brows draw inward, as his lips purse out in grave consideration.

“She’s upside down,” he says, by way of some sort of explanation. “Wouldn’t that hurt your back? Or hers, for that matter.”

Alex only takes a breath when he realizes he hasn’t been breathing, holding it in some sort of petulant indignation, like a child would to see if their parent would respond. Michael doesn’t respond, he just frowns further at the picture in front of him and Alex kicks away a large lump of debris and circles behind the cushions to regard the image over Michael’s shoulder.

It is acrobatic, a woman with her hands on the floor, back arched in a bridge with her legs curled tight around a man whose cock is tactfully hidden by her thigh. It is showy and looks entirely uncomfortable. Alex just snorts and kicks up dust moving the rest of the way around the cushions to the main floor again.

“You tell me,” Alex replies at length. “You have much more experience in the self-pleasuring sector than I do.”

If Michael notices the slight, he doesn’t respond as such, finally lifting his attention entirely from the magazine to focus on Alex instead. An easy smile rises, flattered, beneath his eyes, and only widens when Alex rolls his eyes in response.

“Would it be inappropriate -”

“Yes.”

“You’ve not let me finish.”

“I know what you’re about to ask,” Alex exclaims, letting his hands fall to his sides. “And yes, yes it’s inappropriate, that guy’s body isn’t even cold yet.”

“It won’t be,” Michael answers. “It will settle to ambient temperature.”

“And as it’s settling to ambient temperature, because he’s dead, you want to play porno mag.”

The archangel uncoils from his makeshift seat and stands, letting the magazine slip away unminded. He reaches for Alex’s fingers, then snatches them quickly when Alex tries to jerk them away. Pulling the soldier close, away from the small pile of bodies he’s made today, Michael pushes his thumb to Alex’s palm and traces his lips across his fingertips.

“We’re alone here,” Michael reasons. “No chance of the night watch overhearing you again.”

Alex’s cheeks flush before he can even control the response. That had been a humiliating evening, and he had not even been discovered then. No, he’d remained silently hidden beneath a pile of pillows on which Michael was calmly reclining as the guards attempted to stammer their way through an explanation as to why they burst through the door.

He tries to yank his hand away again and finds it clasped tighter, Michael’s lashes long and dark against his cheeks as he lets his eyes settle on Alex’s fingers before he presses his lips to them.

“Will there ever be a time you pull me away from my life and we don’t end up naked?” Alex huffs, spreading his fingers for Michael to savor as the other smiles and lifts his eyes.

“Will there ever be a time you come with me if you know that it will not happen?” He counters.

“Will you ever shut up?”

“Will you let me kiss you?”

Alex’s teeth grit and he slings his free hand around the back of Michael’s neck. Bending the archangel to him, he drags their mouths into a heated kiss, tongues tangling without regard for foreplay or preamble. They’ve had that already, in the little words that cut to test the other’s mettle. They have that every time, as if by forcing the other to step forward despite their viciousness, they might prevent the other from leaving instead.

Michael clasps his hands to Alex’s jaw. Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he lays claim to the human chosen to receive his marks. In all his stubborn ferocity, he is loyal. He is kind. He is fearful and Michael shivers at the sensation of it when Alex grasps the fine dark hair at the base of Michael’s hairline and pulls them apart.

“Strip,” Michael grins.

Every time, no matter the location, that word draws Alex at once tense and entirely hot. He loves to rile against the command yet he can never bring himself to disobey it. Disobedience usually leads to things that make him all the harder, and rarely is Michael in the mood to let him have his pleasure quickly.

Or only once, if he doesn’t manage to hold on for the angel’s inhuman endurance.

Without turning away, Alex slips his hand down to unclip his gunbelt, letting it drop against his boots with a thud. A brief raise of an elegant brow and Alex finds his fingers fumbling with his vest next, hands curling in his shirt after, to pull it up over his head and toss it away.

Michael stands impeccable, in his heavy boots and loose henley, coat still draped over his shoulders, so Alex leans to shove it from him, let it fall down unresisting arms to the floor behind him. The angel’s eyes narrow, and Alex wonders if it would be pertinent to consider running.

“Everything,” Michael intones, and as if he can see the tension that rivets up through Alex at the words, his eyes drift to the soldier’s muscled legs. He cants his head aside like he’s listening to a far-away sound, and eases only when Alex lets the thoughts of a half-naked bolt into the desert fade.

“Is that smart?”

Michael lifts his arms as Alex tugs the archangel’s shirt off over his head, stretching to his toes to free it before tossing it to the dust. He has only a moment to watch the cloud rise into the late-afternoon sun, filtering through dirty windows. He has only a moment to take in the ivory-smooth expanse of angel before him. He has only a moment before Michael has parted his lips into another kiss and turned Alex’s back to the pillar at whose base Michael had been seated in quiet contemplation of twenty-first century smut moments before.

“Fuck,” Alex hisses, fingers flying quick to pull off belts and unfasten pants. “If someone hears us -”

“Who?”

“Fucking eight-balls. Your brother. You get flappy -”

“Flappy?” Michael asks, leaving a livid suck-mark against Alex’s throat as he meets his gaze.

“You flap, you flap when you’re having sex, what’s to stop it from signaling every angel in a fifty-mile radius -”

“It goes further than that.”

“In a hundred-mile radius, I don’t care how far it goes -”

“I have to concentrate,” Michael explains, one hand against Alex’s cheek as he leans towards the other, licking a long line across the mortal’s jaw, salty with sweat. “And if they happen to hear your moaning, your cursing, your pleading, loud as it all is - then we’ll manage, won’t we?”

“Fuck you,” Alex hisses, pushing up on his toes as Michael rocks up against him, pressing hard and close between Alex’s legs, rubbing them both off with a delicious speed and constant friction. Alex’s fingers tangle in his hair again and he groans when he’s bitten, nipped, more accurately, for forgetting the last instruction.

Alex returns to trying to undress them both, managing his pants down to his ankles, Michael’s the same, before he sets the toe of one of his boots against the heel of the other and attempts a hardly-graceful wriggle out of them.

He wonders, for a moment, how many people had been fondled up against this pillar, pressed against it, fucked against it. The thought makes him shiver, and when he’s finally freed his feet he is almost immediately snared around the waist and lifted, shoved hard against the wall once more. Michael sets his teeth to a soft nipple and Alex wraps his legs around him as much to hold on as to squeeze hard enough to draw a sound.

They’re being childish, rutting in the ruins of a broken city. He can still see the damn magazine discarded on the floor.

“Focus,” Michael whispers, holding Alex’s chin firmly in his hand. He juts his hand beneath it to hold him in place, shortening his breath but not so hard in pressing that he can’t take it. Full lips seek across strong shoulders, and against Alex’s black-lined skin, his archangel whispers, “Breathe. And relax.”

It doesn’t help when Michael’s next shift hitches Alex higher up on his hips, or when he finds Alex’s rigid nipple with his teeth again. His lips latch firm enough around to suck, Alex’s heart pounding against his mouth, muscles quivering in want, in need, frustration and relief. It’s a funny fucking way to teach a lesson, when he could have just said hours ago that Alex wasn’t focused enough.

Fat lot of good it does to focus now, when all he can manage is trying not to fall from around his archangel’s waist.

He pulls his arms around Michael’s neck to compensate, as the tip of Michael’s tongue against his nipple swells his cock to painful attention and tears a groan from the knot of heat in his belly. He leans into him entirely, kissing rough enough to trap his lips against his teeth, swelling them flushed and scarlet as Alex works his way down Michael’s hair, his cheek, securing his mouth once more.

In the swaying movement of their body, bare cocks brushing over coarse curls of hair and soft stomach fluff, tender bellies and bony hips, Alex doesn’t notice when the concrete is gone from his back. He doesn’t notice the slow step that Michael takes, pants still caught around his knees. What he does notice is the telltale sound of the archangel’s wings, snapping like a flag in a strong wind. What he notices is when he tilts, slowly backward, with Michael’s hands against his back.

Hands snare out immediately, gripping hard against Michael’s shoulder, over the strong bend of one dark wing, enough that the angel’s top lip snarls back in displeasure. Alex doesn’t let go, eyes wide and lips parted to pant in breaths.

“Alex.”

“No.”

“You’ve not let me finish.”

Alex just snares his legs harder around Michael’s waist and curls his fingers in the soft wing he grips, shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to let him finish. He doesn’t want to become a reenactment of a picture in a porno magazine. More embarrassingly, he doubts he would be able to hold the position even if he tried. It looked straining and elaborate and requiring of more strength than Alex could dedicate mind power to when Michael would finally push into him.

He could barely control how loudly he moaned, let alone what his limbs should do beyond cling and spread and tremble.

Michael sighs, a warm breath against his soldier’s throat to ease away the trembling strain of his muscles, coiled tight in dread. He won’t force him into this, he never has despite the constant push and pull of power between them, despite his dominance in all things - and especially _this_ thing. He wouldn’t overpower Alex when Alex did not want to be overpowered. He wouldn’t force submission when Alex so readily grants it.

“Do you trust me?” Michael purrs, smile brimming wide as Alex’s jaw clenches harder.

“Fuck you.”

“That isn’t an answer. Do you trust me?”

“I’m not doing trust-falls with you right now.”

“You won’t fall,” Michael assures him, ink-black eyes blinking wide. Alex parts his lips with his tongue and narrows his gaze. Together they stand motionless, the mortal bared and the angel nearly so, and both so hard their cocks keep time with their pulses, stiffening whenever they brush.

Alex nods.

Beneath his hands Michael’s wing stretch and encircle. He does not bend Alex further, clumsy, charming Chosen One that he is, but allows him to lean back against the feathers that could withstand a building collapse if they needed. Brows lifting, Michael lets his eyes drift meaningfully between them, expectant.

Insufferable.

Alex shakes his head, another curse brimming on his lips before he decides against it. Does it even fucking matter when it will wash off the man like water off a duck’s back? The simile is entirely too fitting. He lets go of one of the strong wings and shifts to adjust to the new balance. Alex just looks at him, light eyes to endless black ones, and ducks his head just enough to spit into his palm.

A long string connects his bottom lip with his hand and he leans back with a sigh before bringing his hand down to circle Michael’s cock and stroke him slick.

Despite the stoicism, the put-upon airs the angel is so good in shedding and changing like snakeskin, Alex has found that eye contact entirely enthralls Michael when they are together. He seeks it out almost hungrily, reading within Alex something Alex doesn’t even know he possesses or shows. And when he initiates instead…

Alex watches Michael’s lips slowly part, his eyes close in languid pleasure before they open again, back on Alex’s.

“You’re insatiable,” Alex tells him, squeezing his hand just beneath the swollen pink head of Michael’s cock. It works a groan from the archangel, head tilting back, but even as it does, even as his lashes nearly block out the darkness of his gaze, he seeks between sky-blue eyes, over florid cheeks and flushed lips.

“I’m fascinated,” Michael murmurs.

“By sex.”

“By you,” he says, pressing their brows together when Alex lines Michael up against him. Little thrusts push blunt pressure against his opening, each time breaching deeper, sinking further, stretching wide again his soldier whose fingernails scrape pink lines across Michael’s pale skin. “You bring out the worst in me. Or the best. I haven’t decided yet.”

“The human,” Alex ventures, and parts his lips as Michael pushes in deeper and holds, brows up as Alex shivers against him, delighted by the answer.

“The human,” he agrees. “The best of all things created, and the flaws within them.”

Another shove and Alex makes that helpless little kitten noise Michael adores pulling from him. He clings closer, and Michael shifts, enough to unbalance Alex back against warm feathers, spread and strained and petulant in the way his lips push together. But they part so beautifully when Michael bends enough to kiss his chest, one hand in Alex’s hair, the other against one thigh to rub the skin there and squeeze, pulling him incrementally wider.

Alex’s legs tighten as his body widens. A painful stretch, despite having fucked before they left that morning, the kind that cuts sharp up to the small of his back. Michael fills him to breathlessness, buried deep enough that coarse hair tickles Alex’s ass. The angel bows his head and spreads a kiss over Alex’s heart, cheeks hollowing as he sucks another mark against him, spreading red across white skin and black ink.

Though Michael rocks his hips, it is Alex who controls. Squeezing his thighs to raise himself, loosening them to lower, steady movements as he adjusts to the deep, slow fucking, steady movements until the slick flat of Michael’s tongue across a nipple shivers him, until Michael tightens a hand in his cropped hair to bring their brows together again. He moans against Michael’s mouth when the angel’s broad, black feathers push harder against his back.

There is little room for faith in this world, but in the one who now fearlessly meets Michael’s eyes.

There is little room for prayer, but those carried with wordless passion from Alex’s mouth, and passed to Michael’s in a tangled kiss.

Despite their apparent protests, despite what outwardly appears to be a strained and impossible relationship, they work. They like this. The dynamic between them is satisfying and challenging, stimulating in every way. Alex moans, low and quiet, and Michael pushes deeper, a grin breaking their kiss as he turns his head against Alex's cheek and whispers against him.

"Trust me."

"What -"

Strong arms snare around Alex's thighs, holding him tight as Michael’s wings unfurl enough to lower Alex back, the boy’s hands seeking out on instinct to catch himself against the floor. The position is unusual, but with the support against his back, over his thighs, holding him safe and strong, Alex allows that it also feels pretty damn good.

The thrusts grow deeper, a rougher taking, and Alex lets his eyes close and his mouth part on loud, delighted sounds.

This is ridiculous. 

It is insane and wrong and all kinds of messed up.

And god, _god_ he is so turned on he can barely see.

"Michael -"

Michael spreads his palm across Alex's belly, every muscle outlined by the stretch, every muscle quivering as he bends. Each time Michael's cock plunges into him, disappearing past delicate skin stretched smooth and scarlet, another pitched moan pushes from his lips. Trickling down pale skin over mark and muscle alike, Alex's cock leaks copious, bouncing stiff.

Michael takes his length in hand and his knees nearly buckle when Alex clenches and cries out. His wings shake, but still he strokes long quick pulls over the soldier's stiff dick, curved pink. He is obscene in the sounds he makes, wanton groans jerked to staccato by the archangel's relentless pace. Michael feels his own throat tighten, sudden, body rigid but for an aching groan as he lets himself go and fills his Chosen One thick and wet.

If only he wasn't bound by the constraints of this body, he would climax again at the sight that follows. With the flood of heat fucked against his opening, driven to senseless cursing moans by the hammering of Michael's cock against his prostate, he comes with a cry so loud that Michael's eyes widen and he has to tighten his wings to stop him from shaking to the ground. Bright white jets ribbon across his outstretched body, against his neck, over a nipple, pulsed thick against the tattoos on his belly.

When he manages to gasp in air again, the only sound Alex can give is a dire laugh.

"You're very flexible," Michael murmurs, stunned by the sight of him, debauched and beautiful.

"I'm dizzy," Alex complains. Tightening his grip, and with an unsteady heave - neither would point it out - Michael brings Alex right-side up again, meeting his groan with a kiss.

Alex’s entire body sings, he is lightheaded and trembling, filthy and full and he clings to Michael like the world is ending, arms wrapped around his head and holding on. It is a relief and disappointment both when Michael wraps his arms around Alex and retracts his wings, walking backwards in a careful, slow retreat until he can sit heavily in the pile of cushions again.

Alex presses against him, catching his breath, nosing against the archangel’s neck as strong hands rub up and down his back. And then Alex is laughing, first a low rumble of pleasure and then louder, youthful, delighted.

When he sits back to look at Michael properly he is flushed, eyes shiny and bright.

"So," he giggles, shaking his head, recovering. "So what's the verdict?"

Michael rests his back against the concrete column, and traces his fingertips along Alex’s hairline, down his temple and past his ear, along his jaw. Eyes hooded with contentment, a warmly smug satisfaction, Michael takes a deep breath as Alex sets his hands to the archangel’s chest.

“Impractical,” he decides, eyes narrowing in pleasure as Alex grins again. “Risky. Inappropriate, considering our surroundings.”

He brings his knees up and sets booted heels to the floor, propping Alex forward. Tracing a kiss against his chin, beneath it to his throat, Michael finds a stripe of seed spilled upward - downward? - against his skin and traces it with his tongue.

“Worth it, entirely,” Michael says, “to see you in such reckless abandon.”

Alex wriggles against him, smiles despite himself when Michael holds him closer, palm splaying between his shoulders. He seems not at all inclined to move or dress, even considering where they are, so for a moment more, Alex indulges him.

"You are terrible,” he mumbles, his own hands spreading and curling against Michael’s chest, motions like that of a contented cat. Alex lets his eyes close, his breathing even out, and only then does he hear the echoing shiver of footsteps deeper in the building.

"Michael."

"Mm?"

"Let me up."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not fighting goddamn eight-balls naked."

"You should technically have no trouble fighting in any condition, you’re in the Archangel Corps."

"Well post-coital combat isn't exactly on the training schedule," Alex huffs, squirming more against his mentor who holds him infuriatingly, deliberately still.

“Perhaps it should be,” Michael considers, head tilting as he watches the spreading blush beneath Alex’s eyes. “One never knows -”

“Let me _go_.”

“I told you that you were too loud,” Michael grins, leaning in to steal a kiss - nevermind that Alex clenches his lips closed in protest - before letting the Chosen One free. He sits back and watches his soldier scramble into his gear flinching when his muscles pull, hissing curses. “You really do make the most beautiful sounds.”

Alex laughs, dire, jerking his pants to his waist and fastening them with one hand as he points with the other. “Oh no,” he says. “Don’t start that shit.”

“Complimenting you?”

“It was all your flapping. It’s like a goddamn duck call.”

Michael blinks, and only as the echoing is joined with crude snarling from down the hall does he bother to bring his own trousers up and close them. “Why?”

“Ask your Father!”

Dark eyes twitch narrower before Michael rocks to his feet and grasps his blades from the ground. “I wanted to know what purpose calling ducks would serve.”

"Nothing. It isn’t -" Alex sighs, jerking his shirt down over the mess on his chest. "You're deliberately being obtuse. It's infuriating."

Michael just watches him, smile warming the corners of his mouth, as Alex works his vest and gun belt back on, shoving his feet into his boots and hopping to adjust them properly. He is a wonder, this boy. Still angry and proud and reckless when it comes to Michael, but ruthlessly loyal.

Alex straightens with a huff of breath and steps close enough to glare at his angel. A moment, two, before he arches up on his toes and kisses him.

"Put a shirt on."

Michael’s lips twitch. "Why?"

"So I can rip it off of you back at the eyrie," Alex deadpans, turning on his heel to move towards the door. "And because you would be a stereotype, fighting shirtless in a sex shop. You're apparently above that."


End file.
